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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338161">Two Turtle Doves</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverlyte/pseuds/Silverlyte'>Silverlyte</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cheesy as pizza, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Past Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:15:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,372</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29338161</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverlyte/pseuds/Silverlyte</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where one of your eyes changes color to match that of your soulmate's, Sam had thought he'd met his. The only problem was Jess' eyes never changed. Despite having a half-bond, Sam had always believed they could make it work. More than that, he'd hoped one day their half-bond would become a full one.</p>
<p>And then Jess soulbonded to someone else.</p>
<p>Two months later, the wound is still raw, and Sam can't bring himself to spend the holidays with his brother's family. In an effort to escape everything for a little while, he finds himself in the park, where he meets Gabriel; a man with the poorest taste in hats and the most beautiful, matching tawny eyes Sam has ever seen.</p>
<p>--- Aka my late Sabriel Christmas fic.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gabriel/Sam Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Two Turtle Doves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>~Don't copy or post elsewhere~<br/>No Beta - all mistakes are my own. And spell checks. Can't let Spell Check get away with no blame, hmph.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I'm alright, Dean." The lie nearly sticks in the back of his throat. The laugh that follows feels clumsy on his lips, heavy and acidic on his tongue.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of it seems disjointed amidst the sea of cheer and tinsel. </p><p> </p><p>The sidewalk around him is crowded with couples and children, the bustle of last minute shoppers and Sam wonders, not for the first time, why he thought it would be a good idea to come out here. </p><p> </p><p>It was supposed to be better than staying in the apartment, surrounded by memories. But it's worse, seeing the gifts tucked under arms. The pairs with their fingers twined, people giggling and shouting over the Christmas songs trickling out into the streets.</p><p> </p><p>It's worse, seeing their mismatched eyes as he passes beside them, their faces lit by the lights wrapped around poles and trees, and cast out from the displays in wide shop windows. </p><p> </p><p>And they're everywhere he looks-</p><p> </p><p>The set of teenagers he passes, huddled together near the steps of a shop; their voices booming and joyous, eyes the same combo of one brown, one green.</p><p> </p><p>The elderly Santa who smiles at him over his faux, snowy beard, his gaze a mixture of pale and dark blue. </p><p> </p><p>A woman dragging a little boy by the hand, multiple bags clutches in the other, bumps into him and her eyes are hazel and blue. So achingly familiar that his own snaps away. </p><p> </p><p>"I've just got too much work piled up to take off now." Another lie, more bitter tasting than the last. </p><p> </p><p>In the last months, he's spent nearly every waking moment busying himself with cases. When he'd mentioned working over the holidays, though, his boss had taken the files right out of his arms and just about shoved him out the door. </p><p> </p><p>There's a moment of silence on the other side of the line. It's just long enough to tighten his fingers around the phone. For the guilt in his chest to tighten too. </p><p> </p><p>His exhale emerges as a long, white stream in the frigid air. </p><p> </p><p>Dean's own breath is loud and heavy in his ear, tinged with weariness. "Come on, Sammy, no one should have to spend Christmas alone...." The softness of his voice rouses a lump in Sam's throat. </p><p> </p><p>It makes the sensation of fingers squeezing in around his heart that much harsher, and no matter how many times he tries, he can't seem to swallow either down. </p><p> </p><p>The truth is that Sam <em>can't</em>. He can't see his brother with his husband right then. </p><p> </p><p>He can't look at their mismatched eyes, know how happy they are together, see the way they touch one another, how they always seem to <em>know</em> what the other needs, what they mean to say. </p><p> </p><p>Dean and Cas move around one another with all the ease of proper, true soulmates and Sam-</p><p> </p><p>It wasn't right to be jealous. To feel the sliver of coiled resentment burning away in the bottom of his stomach. If anyone deserved to have a soulbond, to have a <em>family</em>, it was Dean. </p><p> </p><p>After everything he'd done, all the sacrifices he made when they were kids - forced to grow up too fast while their father disappeared for weeks at a time - he deserved the very best in life. </p><p> </p><p>But Sam is. He's jealous, and he's angry, and why not him too? Why does only one of them get that perfect cookie cutter life? And he just- </p><p> </p><p><em>Can't</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Not yet. Not when everything is still raw. When the ground is cracked beneath his feet, and he's waiting for the moment that it finally gives away entirely, and lets darkness swallow him whole. </p><p> </p><p>It's selfish. He knows it is. </p><p> </p><p><em>Maybe that's why she's gone</em>, whispers a voice in the back of his mind, <em>Why Dean met his soulmate and you didn't. Dean's always been the selfless one and you, you're the one who left-</em></p><p> </p><p>"What if Cas and I drive out?" It alarms him enough that he stumbles to a stop, head jerking down. </p><p> </p><p>"No!" It's too loud but if anyone around him notices, they pay him no heed beyond irritated glances as they circle around him. Too caught up in their own errands, and the rush of time quickly dwindling away before the shops begin to close. "I-"</p><p> </p><p>He draws in a slow breath, willing the frantic beat of his heart to slow. </p><p> </p><p>There's too much noise, though. Too many people crowding in around him. The press of their bodies makes the air feel stale in his lungs, his skin suddenly hot beneath the bulk of his jacket. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Away. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>He needs to get away. From the crowd. The noise. From the voices and music and lights. </p><p> </p><p>It's like being in a river with the current surging past him, threatening to drag him down the longer he merely stands there. A part of him fears that the next time he tries, he won't be able to breathe at all. </p><p> </p><p>That invisible waters will have sucked him so far beneath the surface, he'll drown before he finds his way back. </p><p> </p><p>Only, he can't drown. Not with Dean on the phone. Not when he needs him to believe he's fine. </p><p> </p><p><em>He is fine</em>. </p><p> </p><p>An elbow jabs him in the side, and it's enough to jar him back into motion. </p><p> </p><p>He presses the phone tighter against his ear as he steps and nudges his way through the stream of shoppers. "You can't do that to Jack. It's his first Christmas with you guys. He shouldn't have to spend it on the road."</p><p> </p><p>"He <em>should</em> get to have his uncle here for it." There's another one Dean's sighs, and Sam has to fight the urge to squeeze his eyes shut. </p><p> </p><p>He's right. </p><p> </p><p>It's been nearly a year since the adoption went through, and he's only gotten to spend a handful of days with his nephew. Jack is such a sweet little kid, too. </p><p> </p><p>Sam would make it up to him, though. </p><p> </p><p>He'd make it up to all of them. Just... not today. </p><p> </p><p>"I'll call. Tomorrow. We can... we can video chat."</p><p> </p><p>A car honks at him when he stumbles out into the street and he winces, lifting a hand towards it in apology. Hurries across to the other sidewalk as quickly as he can. </p><p> </p><p>"Wait Sam-" </p><p> </p><p>"I have to go now." He doesn't wait for a response before he pulls the phone down. Fumbling with it for a moment before he manages to end the call. </p><p> </p><p>The phone gets stuffed into the pocket of his jacket, where it mercifully stays quiet. </p><p> </p><p>His hands follow suit. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't stop. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't think he can. </p><p> </p><p>He just keeps going - surpassing the sidewalk and ducking beneath a branch, snow crackling beneath his boots with every step he takes. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>He has to get away. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Away from Dean's worried tone, and the thought of poor little Jack's crestfallen face. </p><p> </p><p>Away from the laughter and cheer and mismatched eyes all looking past him. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Did they know?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Could they tell? That his own eyes are nothing more than a lie? </p><p> </p><p>One he let himself believe in for far too long. </p><p> </p><p>Or did they see them, him, and think he's the same as them? Another lucky, bonded soul?</p><p> </p><p>He isn't certain which possibility is worse. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"Winchester!"</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The shout is enough to stall his feet, for as much as it startles him; tearing him from his thoughts and thrusting him into a world that is foreign, all traces of the busy street he'd left behind having been swallowed up by trees and snow. </p><p> </p><p>Sam blinks. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn't have gone that far. He only just left the sidewalk.... didn't he? </p><p> </p><p>But the surrounding evening is silent, and when he twists around to peer behind him, the sole light he sees come from a single, dim lamppost in the corner of his vision. </p><p> </p><p>"Ha-ha," Says a voice dryly to his right, "Try looking down."</p><p> </p><p>Sam does. </p><p> </p><p>And blinks again. </p><p> </p><p>There is a man sitting on a wooden bench, frowning up at him. </p><p> </p><p>He's not sure how he managed to overlook him before; illuminated as he is by the lamppost, his legs stretching out before him. </p><p> </p><p>But even so, it's the... <em>thing</em> on top of his head that catches and holds his gaze. </p><p> </p><p>It's the ugliest knitted hat he's ever seen; a nauseating, clashing mixture of neon green and bubblegum pink pulled down snugly over his ears, and topped with a large, fluffy ball of yellow. </p><p> </p><p>Distantly, he wonders what sort of bet he must have to lost to be stuck with it. </p><p> </p><p>Beneath it, the man's expression brightens. Sam watches in baffled, horrified awe as his chin jerks up and sends the mess of tassels dangling down from either side of the hat swinging. </p><p> </p><p>A hand adorning a glove striped with the same too-bright colors rises to snap fingers into his direction. "Sammy, right?"</p><p> </p><p>"It's just Sam." Sam tells the still swinging tassels; they're the same vivid yellow as the fuzzy ball, ends tipped green on one side, pink on the other. Seriously, did he lose a battle with a paint can?</p><p> </p><p>Or three?</p><p> </p><p>And then the words sink in. </p><p> </p><p>Snatching his gaze up the stranger's face, his brows furrow. "How did you-"</p><p> </p><p>"When he said tall, I hadn't realized he'd meant Sasquatch size," The man grins, wide and lopsided, as he looks Sam up and down, "Dean-o's always going on about his little bro. Stanford graduate and all that. Even has the graduation photo hung up in his shop." </p><p> </p><p>And <em>oh</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He'd almost forgotten about the tightness in his chest. </p><p> </p><p>But there is no forgetting it now; the pressure of it presses up against his ribs, and leaves his lungs struggling to fully inflate. The air having been expelled from them in a loud, long gust. </p><p> </p><p>Dean's proud of him. </p><p> </p><p>Dean's been showing him off. Telling people about him, apparently, too. </p><p> </p><p>But then, he's always been proud. Even when he left for the coast, and Dean stayed behind in Kansas. </p><p> </p><p>And he couldn't even stand to spend Christmas with his own brother. </p><p> </p><p>He couldn't suck it up for a single day and play the part of the good sibling, the good uncle-</p><p> </p><p>"You okay there, Samshine?" The man's grin has faded. In its place is an odd sort of intensity. There is a strange familiarity to the slight tilt of his head, the way his gaze seems to pierce right through him. </p><p> </p><p>For a heart-wrenching moment, Sam worries that he somehow <em>knows</em>. That he can somehow see it - all the lies, the selfishness, that there is something <em>wrong</em> with him, there has to be. </p><p> </p><p>It makes him shrink back, shoulders hunching inwards. His hands pressing down deeper into his pockets. There is heat prickling up behind his eyes and he swallows, tries to blink it back. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry- I don't-" The words emerge a choked whisper. The rest of them catch in his throat and stick there no matter how many times he tries to push them up, past his tongue. </p><p> </p><p>He just wants it to all go away. The way he's wanted it to go away for months now. </p><p> </p><p>But it never does. </p><p> </p><p>Instead, the man is rising from the bench. His movements slow and stilted when he starts towards him, as though Sam's a wild deer he's convinced will turn and bolt the second it notices him. </p><p> </p><p>"Sam?"</p><p> </p><p>He's fine. <em>He is</em>. </p><p> </p><p>Except that the man is still looking at him with those piercing, knowing eyes, his head tilting up as he comes to stand in front of him. His hand is a gentle weight on his arm when he reaches out to him.</p><p> </p><p>And when Sam's mouth opens to tell him the same lie he's been telling his brother for weeks now, what comes out is a wretched, strangled noise. And it doesn't stop. </p><p> </p><p>Tears blur his vision, too hot against chilled cheeks as the sobs grow louder. </p><p> </p><p>It warrants a startled noise from the man. His hand tightens around Sam's arm, firm but gentle, and when he tugs, Sam is surprised to find how easily his legs obey. </p><p> </p><p>He's pushed down onto the bench but even then the man doesn't release him. Rather, he sinks down next to him, his hand sliding behind him, furrowing into the back of his jacket, and it's just as easy. </p><p> </p><p>To slump in against him when he pulls, body twisting to press his forehead against the stranger's shoulder. Or maybe it's not so much easy as it is that Sam simply doesn't have the energy to resist. </p><p> </p><p>It seems like seconds and hours have passed before Sam can breathe again. Before the sobs subside into hitching gasps and then into trembling silence. </p><p> </p><p>The hand never leaves his back. </p><p> </p><p>The realization rouses heat in his cheeks, but he can't find it in himself to draw away. Not yet. Not with the weariness all around him, his insides both heavy and hollow. </p><p> </p><p>The dull start of a headache lurks just behind his temples. </p><p> </p><p>The fingers grasping his jacket loosen but don't give away entirely. "Sam-"</p><p> </p><p>"No- I'm... I'm okay." He takes a deep breath before he does pull himself up, quickly ducking his head away lest he be met with those eyes again. </p><p> </p><p>Beside him, the man snorts, "Yeah and I'm a hot fudge sundae with a side of sprinkles."</p><p> </p><p>There's a beat of silence before he adds in a softer tone, "Look, you don't have to talk to little old me but hey, might help." Bumping their shoulders together, he offers him a packet of tissues. </p><p> </p><p>Hesitantly, Sam takes it. Blows his nose. Peers down at the packet, now taking up residence on his lap. </p><p> </p><p>He thinks about the lies he told on the phone, and the way they'd felt like acid on his tongue, like water filling up his lungs, and stones in his chest. He thinks about how he's already sobbed himself out all over the poor man's jacket and how simple it'd seemed, for a moment, not to have to be okay. </p><p> </p><p>To not have to hide behind forced smiles, the fact that he's cracking apart and doesn't know how to make it stop; to not have to keep pushing down all those things he could never tell Dean. </p><p> </p><p>And he makes a choice. </p><p> </p><p>His thoughts spilling out before he can think better than to let them go, "I can't handle seeing Dean. With Cas. Not since... It's just- I'm happy for him. I <em>am</em>. He's married to his soulmate. He started a family. He's happy."</p><p> </p><p>His head tucks down lower, a deep breath getting dragged in through his nose, released out his mouth. "But I... I see them together and all I can think about is how much I want for that to be me too. How I've always wanted it." </p><p> </p><p>"And how there must be something wrong with me that it's not. And there must be. Because what kind of person looks at their brother's life and sees it as something they don't have? How screwed up do you really have to be?"</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Screwed up enough to not deserve it? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The tissue is scrunched up in his hand. He tightens his grasp around it, the quietness that falls around them deafening. </p><p> </p><p>All the while, he merely stares down, his other palm turned up in his lap. He doesn't want to look up. Doesn't want to see the disgust that'll surely be there on the man's face, the confirmation of how petty he really is-</p><p> </p><p>He jolts slightly when the man's hand reaches out and clasps around his, squeezing tightly. "Sam, a lot of people have a hard time seeing other couples after losing a soulbond." </p><p> </p><p>Sam makes a sound in the back of his throat. Laughter. Only, there's no humor in it; it's abrupt and brief and edged with a cruel sort of hysteria. He shakes his head. "I didn't lose a soulbond. We were never-"</p><p> </p><p>Drawing up higher, he pulls his hand away. Uses it to push the hair from his forehead. "Or at least she wasn't. It was a half-bond. And I think... I think I always knew, because of that. That it wouldn't work."</p><p> </p><p>Ever since that second day... when their eyes met, and hers had both been the same blue that one of his now is... There had always been something wrong. Off. About them. </p><p> </p><p>They'd agreed to try but it was as if they were living on borrowed time, and Sam had just... he'd been holding onto the hope, before, that one day Jess would wake up and one of her eyes would be the same hazel shade as his. </p><p> </p><p>He has to swallow around the thickness forming in his throat before he can speak again. "She met her true soulmate. Two months ago. Said she couldn't miss her chance."</p><p> </p><p>Sam's smile is small and bitter, directed down at his boots when he adds in a whisper, "It wouldn't have- worked. Even if she'd stayed. I couldn't have taken that away from her." </p><p> </p><p>The silence, this time, lasts no more than a few breaths before the man asks, "Ever been ice skating?"</p><p> </p><p>Sam's head whips around to stare at him. "What?"</p><p> </p><p>"Ice skating. Ever been?"</p><p> </p><p><em>What?</em> "Once but-"</p><p> </p><p>"Oh good," Says the man brightly, as if Sam hadn't just confessed to him all the thoughts that have kept him up night after night, "Up and at 'em, Samsquash."</p><p> </p><p>With a smack against Sam's back, the man with the ugly hat lurches up from the bench, pausing to stretch out his legs and smooth down the front of his coat. </p><p> </p><p>Sam blinks slowly at him. </p><p> </p><p>The man, seeming to realize Sam isn't moving, peers back at him with raised brows. </p><p> </p><p>A moment passes. </p><p> </p><p>Sighing loudly, he waggles a finger at him. "Quit with the look, will you? Sheesh, you're as bad as Cassie. Look, <em>you</em> clearly need a distraction. Asides, it's Christmas Eve. I think that calls for a little fun, don't you?"</p><p> </p><p>Turning his hand over, the man offers it out to him, "Call it a night in Neverland."</p><p> </p><p>Sam glances down at it, the fingers wiggling out towards him impatiently, and then up again, at the man's slight, mischievous smile. </p><p> </p><p>And thinks, maybe, a night with Peter Pan wouldn't be so bad. </p><p> </p><p>That being whisked away to a land of adventures, where things like being grown up or halfbonds don't exist, had to be better than <em>this</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Than the thoughts and the pain, and the emptiness haunting an apartment he can't bring himself to stay in tonight. </p><p> </p><p>Sam takes the hand. </p><p> </p><p>The man doesn't let go once he's helped pull him to his feet; he slots their fingers together and tugs. </p><p> </p><p>Keeps tugging. </p><p> </p><p>Until, all at once, they're running, cold air whipping past Sam's ears. And it's only then, as he's watching the yellow ball on the hat bobbing ahead of him, that he realizes he still doesn't know who this man is. </p><p> </p><p>"How do you know Dean?"</p><p> </p><p>The man glances at him from over his shoulders, cheeks puffed out and flushed pink by the cold. "I'm wounded. I'd have thought Cassie would have told everyone about how awesome I am." </p><p> </p><p><em>Cassie</em>. </p><p> </p><p>He doesn't know how he didn't see it before. </p><p> </p><p>The way he'd looked at him, intense and knowing and so much like-</p><p> </p><p>"You're Cas' brother."</p><p> </p><p>He's always known Cas has a brother- he's heard countless stories of him terrorizing nannies and teachers, and more than enough complaints from Dean about him, but he's never met him. </p><p> </p><p>The last he'd heard, he'd been working as a janitor at some college. </p><p> </p><p>"Guilty!" </p><p> </p><p>"Gabriel," Sam breathes.</p><p> </p><p>He expects to feel panic at the realization, but Gabriel's hand is warm and firm in his, and his laughter is loud and wild-sounding, and the tassels are flapping out behind him. </p><p> </p><p>And it's all so absolutely, impossibly, what-are-the-chances ridiculous that he finds himself smiling softly in return. </p><p> </p><p>"That's the name, don't wear it out,"</p><p> </p><p>No, the panic never comes, and in its place is something softer and disbelieving, and maybe it's the wind and the trees whirling past them, the hard crunch of their steps, or maybe he's finally losing it-</p><p> </p><p>But, for the first time in a long while, he almost feels <em>free</em>. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Note : This story is entirely outlined. It should be 4-5 chapters long. :) <br/>Fun fact : I originally got the idea for this story on Christmas Eve. Unfortunately, I am a procrastinator, and I've only been working on it recently.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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